


october ficlets

by thealienmeme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Ficlets, Kisses, M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Writober 2020, artists get to draw all month, grossly so, i wanted to write!, listen, many many kisses, these are an anthology and also in no chronological order, they're in love, this is all going to be soft bc i am a sappy fool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 17,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealienmeme/pseuds/thealienmeme
Summary: a collection of moments between two immortal idiots in love written based on the Writober 2020 prompt list from Fanwriter.itcover art by @freedomattack_thereal on instagram!!!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 81
Collections: Writober2020 di Fanwriter.it





	1. "moon"

[](https://ibb.co/SPRWHW9)

“Darling, is it much further?” Aziraphale asked, panting slightly from the uphill walk. 

He leaned on a tree bark and adjusted his bowtie to be looser, just so, and ran a hand through his curls. He didn’t sweat, God knows he took the sweat glands right out of his corporation the moment he felt the temperature go above 21° C, but walking up a large hill for 20 minutes still wasn’t very comfortable. 

Crowley groaned and turned around from where he was walking some two meters ahead. 

“We’re so close, angel, come on!” Crowley walked over to Aziraphale and tugged on his arm, urging Aziraphale up the hill in front of him. “I promise it’ll be worth it.” 

Aziraphale sighed and resigned himself to his fate, but not without a little bit of pouting. 

“Don’t give me that face, don’t you trust me?” Crowley asked after catching Aziraphale’s pout. Crowley leaned in and stole a quick kiss before running ahead. “I can see the top, we’re only about 20 seconds from our destination.” 

Aziraphale perked up at the prospect of finally being over this hill (or rather, on top of it) and quickened his pace. He was so focused on looking at his feet to ensure he didn’t trip on any of the scraggly tree trunks surrounding them that he ran directly into Crowley, who was stopped. 

“Oh, Crowley, please mind yourself, I almost… fell…” Aziraphale’s complaints died in his throat as he caught sight of the view in front of them. 

They were at the top of a very large hill, looking down at a valley of dark tinted evergreens, fields of flowing grass, and a sparkling river. The entire valley was lit up by the moon, which was so bright and full it took Aziraphale’s breath away. 

He looked at the river and watched the small waves splash in the glimmering silver spotlight the moon was providing and found himself mesmerized by its dance. A cool breeze blew past them and he felt the chill tickle his chin and run down his spine. 

A cream blanket appeared in Crowley’s hands and he wrapped its soft folds around Aziraphale, making sure he was snug before standing to hug him from behind. 

“See? Told ya it was worth it,” Crowley whispered into his ear. “Pretty isn’t it?” 

All Aziraphale could do was nod dumbly in response. 

It was more than pretty - it was beautiful, it was charming, delightful, arresting, it was downright  _ heavenly. _ Aziraphale felt a pair of eyes boring into the side of his face. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to enjoy the view?” Aziraphale asked, raising an eyebrow as he met Crowley’s eyes. “You are the one who insisted it was worth it.” 

Crowley smiled and the freckled skin around his eyes crinkled. 

“I  _ am _ enjoying the view, angel.” 

Aziraphale moved to bat his arm but found he was still swathed like a newborn in the blanket. He gave up and leaned back into Crowley, who held him tighter. 

“You’re an old sap, you know that?” 

“Only for you.” 


	2. "radio"

Crowley ambled into the cottage from the garden. 

He peeled off his shearing gloves and carefully removed his boots, which were caked in a day's worth of dirt and fertilizer. Aziraphale was very particular about the state of the kitchen, and Crowley leaving a filth path in his wake more than a few times had resulted in a lecture about cleanliness (“It’s our home, dearest, don’t you want it to look its best?”) and, after a miracle or two, the mudroom (“I’ll even get you a little hanging pouch for your gardening tools!”). 

Crowley smiled at the memory as he double-checked to make sure all traces of dirt and grime were gone and he was safe to fully enter their home. 

Through the door, he could hear Aziraphale bustling around the kitchen. He had taken to learning how to cook since they moved to the South Downs. There were restaurants, of course, and Aziraphale had found something to love in all of them. 

From the quaint porcelain china the bistro in town uses to the special lemon drizzled scones Mrs. Annie makes for her diner, Aziraphale loved it all. 

“Oh, you can just feel the love that was put into everything!” he had exclaimed to Crowley one day on the drive home from dinner. 

And thus started his escapades in cooking. 

Crowley opened the door and realized that Aziraphale was humming. A second later, he realized Aziraphale was humming along with a small radio that was perched on the window sill above the sink. It was playing… Elton John? 

“Now where did you get  _ that _ ?” Crowley asked, nodding at the radio. 

Aziraphale turned from whatever he was chopping on the counter and followed Crowley’s line of vision. 

“Ah, the portable audio system?” Aziraphale replied. “I found it at an estate sale that Mr. Barnette was having. Isn’t it cool?” 

Crowley cringed dramatically. 

“Angel, you know it’s called a ‘radio,’ so I won’t dignify that with a response, but I guess it is kinda ‘cool.’” The quotation marks around “cool” were both implied heavily by tone and expressed physically as Crowley brought both hands up and made his forefinger and middle finger scrunch up and down. 

The song faded out and Crowley recognized the intro to “Your Song” by Elton John. 

Crowley smiled. 

“It’s a little bit funnyyyy,” Crowley started, singing along. “This feeling insiiiiiiide~” 

Crowley placed a hand theatrically on his chest and began to sing to Aziraphale. 

“I’m not one of those who can… EASILY hiiiiiiiiide-” Crowley moved over to slink against the counter and picked up a wooden spoon to use as a makeshift microphone. 

“Dear, with those hips and that hair, ‘hiding’ isn’t even in your vocabulary.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes and continued singing. 

“I don’t have much moneey, buUut… BOY if I diiiid,” Crowley pulled the spoon closer to himself and pretended to look out at the audience watching his performance. “I’d buy a big house wheeere, we both could liiive~” 

Aziraphale stopped chopping and put a hand on his hip as he turned to look at Crowley. 

“Well, you’ve already done that, haven’t you?” Aziraphale smiled and looked around the kitchen at the home they were building together. 

“If I was a sculptooor, heh, but then again- NOO~ or a man, who makes potions in a… travlin’ shooOoOow, IIIII know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can doOoOoooooo,” Crowley came over to Aziraphale now, putting the spoon down and grabbing both of Aziraphale’s hands to pull him into the center of their kitchen. 

“Crowley! You’ll get flour all over your black shirt,” Aziraphale protested. 

Crowley ignored him. 

“My gift is my song aaand, this one’s for youuuu~” Crowley began twirling them around the small space. “AND YOU CAN TELL EVERYBOOODY, THIS IS YOUR SOOOOOOONG. IT MAY BE QUITE SIMPLE BUUUUUT, NOW THAT IT’S DOOOOONE~” 

Aziraphale started laughing as Crowley continued spinning him. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in WOOoOoORDS,” Crowley stopped spinning them and brought Aziraphale’s hands up to his mouth so that he could brush his lips across Aziraphale’s knuckles. “How wonderful life is, while you’re in the wooooorld.” 

Aziraphale blushed and looked away. 

“Keep dancin’ with me, angel?” Crowley asked with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t know if that qualified as dancing,” Aziraphale replied, but the radio volume turned up and Aziraphale didn’t move away. 

Elton John was often playing now from that little radio whenever Crowley came in from gardening, an unspoken tradition beginning to form. 


	3. "sculpture"

“It does bear quite the resemblance, doesn’t it?” 

Aziraphale was circling the statue and Crowley was blushing wildly. Aziraphale had dragged them to the National Gallery to see the new exhibit: A Study in Temptation. He said it could be fun and there were always depictions of the Original Sin, and it was a pastime of theirs to go make comparisons to the real event. 

It was about five minutes in that Crowley recognized one of the artists’ names. 

“This is a Lysippus, angel!” Crowley exclaimed, showing more enthusiasm than he had a second ago. “I knew him, we were great- er, friends.” 

Crowley stuttered as he came to face a large statue of a woman with flowing curls and a snake band around her arm. 

Aziraphale, who was studying a different piece, realized Crowley had stopped talking and wandered over to see what had caught his attention so abruptly. Which led them to now, studying the statue of a seemingly familiar figure diligently. 

“He- I didn’t know he used me as, well, I mean… I guess he did call me his ‘muse,’” Crowley mumbled. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. 

“And who wouldn’t? You look like temptation on legs, dear.” Aziraphale had one arm behind his back and his opposite hand cupping his chin in thought as he turned back to the sculpture. 

Crowley shot a sideways glance at Aziraphale. 

“You really think that? ‘M not just a gangly collection of limbs?” Crowley said, softly. 

Aziraphale looked confused for a moment before his face softened and he walked over to where Crowley stood, directly in front of the piece. He put his arm around Crowley’s back and nudged him until he was resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Tempted me, didn’t you?” Aziraphale replied, turning to kiss the top of Crowley’s head. 

Crowley chuckled. 

“From where I’m standing, it was the other way around,” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale felt his heart melt. It didn’t matter how long they had been together or how many times he heard Crowley express any sort of sappy feelings, it always warmed Aziraphale right down to his toes to hear how much he was loved - openly and freely. 

“Come on, love, let’s go get us some coffee from that little cafe you like,” Aziraphale said as he grabbed Crowley’s hand and intertwined their fingers. 

“Don’t you want to see the rest of the exhibit?” Crowley asked, reluctantly following Aziraphale toward the exit. 

“I don’t think I have to, now, do I? When I have the inspiration right in front of me.” 

Crowley blushed all the way to the cafe.


	4. "lipstick"

They were going to be late. Well, to a regular person they were actually quite early, but according to one sort of stuffy and very particular angel, they were going to be late. 

Aziraphale tapped his shoe impatiently. 

“Crowley, darling,” Aziraphale called down the hall to their room. “We best get a move on! We have to drive all the way to London, mind you, and I don’t want to get stuck in traffic.” 

There was a bit of shuffling behind the closed door before Crowley replied. 

“Just a second, I swear!” Crowley shouted from behind the door. 

Aziraphale sighed. He wasn’t really mad, he knew that if they did happen upon any traffic, it could easily be taken care of with a quick snap of their fingers and a passing thought. But he had been trying to impose onto Crowley a stricter sense of time management. 

So far he was unsuccessful. 

Finally, the door to their room opened and Crowley stepped out. Aziraphale felt his heart flutter as his eyes traveled up Crowley’s lithe form. He was wearing that burgundy suit jacket that he  _ knows _ does things to Aziraphale’s insides. And don’t get Aziraphale started the things those black trousers accentuate. 

“How do I look, angel?” Crowley asked, turning around and putting his arms out to show off the whole outfit. 

Aziraphale had been so distracted by his outfit earlier that he hadn’t noticed Crowley’s face. 

“Oh, you’re wearing lipstick,” Aziraphale said, softly. 

Crowley shifted on his feet and his body language visibly changed. 

“‘M yeah. I know I usually wear it when I’m wearing a more female presenting body, but… I dunno, thought it looked nice with this jacket,” Crowley said as he rubbed the back of his neck and looked sheepishly at the ground. “I can take it off if you don’t think it-” 

“Stop that right now,” Aziraphale replied, walking up to Crowley and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You look breathtaking as always.” 

The tips of Crowley’s ears began turning bright red. 

“You think?” he replied. 

“Yes, there is just one thing I want to check before we go, dear.” Aziraphale moved to stand in front of him and gave him a gentle kiss. “Hm. Shame.” 

“What is?” Crowley asked, still looking a little dazed from the sudden kiss. 

“I was hoping it would transfer,” Aziraphale rubbed at his own lips. 

Crowley grinned. 

“Hoping for me to leave a mark on you, huh?” Crowley kissed his nose. “Let everyone know you’re mine?” 

Crowley proceeded to cover Aziraphale in kisses from his ear lobes to the soft folds of his chin, making sure to leave lipstick marks in each spot. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale giggled. “Stop that!” 

“What? I thought this was what you wanted.” Crowley continued his kissing tirade until Aziraphale finally pulled back, hair a little ruffled, face covered in lipstick. 

“We’re going to be late,” Aziraphale repeated. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll miracle them away for you-” Crowley raised his fingers to snap. 

“Wait!” Aziraphale interrupted. “You can leave one… if you don’t mind.” 

Crowley smirked at him. He clicked his fingers together and Aziraphale’s face was once again free of marks, except for one burgundy mark, right below his ear just grazing his neck. 

“There, perfect,” Crowley looped their arms together and began walking toward the front door. “After you, angel.” 

Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to walk out the door first. Aziraphale chuckled. 

“What am I going to do with you, you serpent?” 

“Dunno, guess you’ll have to spend the rest of your life figuring it out, won’t you?” 


	5. "ice"

Aziraphale pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the small droplets of sweat forming on his brow. It was unseasonably hot, and he was currently perched in a chair in the garden, trying to read under the shade of their apple tree. 

Crowley had been busy bustling around, yelling at the plants, mocking the vegetables, and sneering at the fruits. He appeared to be done, now, and was walking up to where Aziraphale was sitting. 

“Think I’m gonna make some tea,” Crowley said, striding past him to go into the cottage. 

Aziraphale felt a pang of confusion make its way through his heat-fogged mind. 

“Tea?” he half-yelled after Crowley. “Dear, it has to be nearly 37° and you want to make tea?” 

Aziraphale could hear Crowley banging around in the kitchen before he finally stepped out, a tall glass in hand with a little pink umbrella sticking out. 

Aziraphale paused to stare at him. 

“Is that… iced tea?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened in abject British horror. 

“Yep,” Crowley said, popping the “p” at the end. 

He then proceeded to take a long sip, followed by a very exaggerated “ah” sound and sat down across from Aziraphale. 

“Crowley, you can’t put ice in tea, we’re British,” Aziraphale protested, still staring at Crowley as he pulled out his phone and started scrolling. 

Crowley looked up, an amused smile on his face. 

“Not British, angel, we’re occult-” 

“Ethereal.” 

“Fine, we’re occult and ethereal beings… we’re not  _ really _ British,” Crowley replied, taking a sip of his iced tea for emphasis. 

Aziraphale crossed his arms and looked away in thought. Crowley was technically right, they weren’t really British, they were older than Britain itself. However, that didn’t stop Aziraphale from being a proper Brit in every sense of the word, and that included not degrading his tea with ice. 

“Have you ever given it a try, hm?” Crowley asked. “I bet you’d like it. It’s sweet and cool, I even put a kitschy little umbrella in it, perfect for weather like this.” 

Crowley gestured to the nearly visible heat surrounding them. Aziraphale pointedly did not look at him. 

“C’mon, just a sip,” Crowley pushed the glass toward Aziraphale. “For me.” 

Aziraphale risked a glance up. Damn that wily tempter. 

“Fine, fine, hand it here,” Aziraphale reached for the drink and took a sip. 

He let the liquid sit on his tongue for a moment, the sweetness of the sugar dancing on his taste buds, before swallowing it, humming as it cooled his throat. 

“Well?” Crowley asked, eyeing the glass as Aziraphale pushed it back toward him. 

Aziraphale mumbled. 

“What was that?” Crowley asked, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile on his face. 

“I said… it was nice.” 

Crowley beamed and miracled up another glass with a matching umbrella and put it in front of Aziraphale, who grabbed it tentatively. 

“You see? Even after 6,000 years, I can still tempt you.” Crowley leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, taking another sip of his drink. 

Aziraphale eyed up his legs, to his torso, and all the way up until finally landing on Crowley’s relaxed face. 

“Yes, I suppose you do.” 


	6. "trick"

Crowley finished setting out the last of the styrofoam skulls and took a step back to admire his work. The cottage looked simply terrifying, if he did say so himself. Which he did. Say that. 

He heard a car pulling into their driveway and turned to see Mrs. Young’s car, filled up with a very costumed the Them. They were practically vibrating with excitement to be trick-or-treating in a new neighborhood, and had already visited a few times to properly map out their route. 

Crowley ran back into the house and snapped on his costume. He ran his tongue over the fake fangs to make sure they were snug in place and smoothed down his cape. He had also hid a small capsule of fake blood under his tongue so he could bite it at just the right time to scare the kids. 

_ Where is Aziraphale?  _ Crowley thought to himself. 

As Crowley gathered himself up to answer the door, he realized he hadn’t seen the angel in a few hours. Last he saw him, he had insisted that everything in his costume had to be perfect. 

“Angel!” Crowley called down the hall as a knock came on the door. “The Them are here!” 

Crowley grabbed his cape, put it over his face, and answered the door with a loud  _ HISSSS _ as blood flowed down his chin, followed by the Them screaming and then petering out into giggles. 

“Very scary, Mr. Crowley,” Adam said, still giggling. 

“Oi, I  _ am _ very scary - I’m a demon, in case you forgot.” Crowley pointed to his eyes.

The Them were ushered inside and once Crowley exchanged pleasantries with Deidre, she left and it was just Crowley and the children. 

“Where is Mr. Aziraphale?” Brian asked. Crowley was trying to figure out his costume. He supposed he was meant to be a ghost but he had little brown dirt patches everywhere. So… a dirty ghost?

“Oh, he’s still getting ready, I guess,” Crowley said, looking toward the bedroom door. “But let’s get you guys outside, we set up a little haunted house before we go trick-or-treating.” 

Crowley led the kids to the garden and, he had to admit, it looked terrifying. They had spent all morning setting it up. As soon as they stepped out of the door frame, however, the light on the back porch went out, a thick fog rose up to their knees, and an eerie feeling crept up their spines. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out, hesitantly. 

Just as he took a step forward, the Them cowering behind him, a small, white blur ran past him followed by children’s laughter. Crowley turned to look down at the Them, assuming they were the source, only to find their terrified faces looking back at him. Mouths closed. 

The small white blur whizzed past them, again, and the Them all screamed. Adam took a step forward. 

“Come on, guys, are we just gonna let a ghost scare us? We have a demon!” Adam said, trying to rally the others. “Right, Mr. Crowley?” 

“Er, right…” 

The Them puffed out their chests and began to walk through the garden. 

The fog got thicker and the sound of whispers followed their every footstep. Adam was in the front, with Pepper following a close second, followed by Brian and Wensleydale, with Crowley bringing up the rear. 

A few more feet in and Pepper screamed as a hand shot out of the dirt and grabbed her ankle. Before the rest of the Them could react, they were being grabbed, too. Hands were shooting out from various points all throughout the dirt and they began clawing their way to the surface. 

“Zombies!” Adam yelled. 

The Them began struggling, trying to escape, but it was too late. They were surrounded. 

The first unearthed zombie made its way toward Adam and he valiantly continued trying to dislodge his foot from the undead’s grasp when he paused and studied the zombie closer. 

“Mr. Aziraphale?” Adam said, a large grin spreading across his face. 

“Hello, dear boy,” Aziraphale responded, lifting up his mask. “Hello, children!” 

The Them all squealed with delight as Aziraphale snapped and their legs were released from the deathly grips. They ran toward Aziraphale and started jumping up and down, exclaiming things like “that was so cool!” and “can you do it again?” 

“Now, now, kids, I believe it’s time for the ‘treating’ part of ‘trick-or-treating,’ but maybe when we get back, yes?” Aziraphale patted Adam on the head. “Goodness, look at the time, we best get a wiggle on if you want to visit every stop on your map.” 

The Them all nodded in agreement and began running back to the cottage. Aziraphale smiled after them before noticing Crowley, who was swaying in place and looking bewildered. Aziraphale walked up to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

“And how are you faring, dearest?” Aziraphale asked, a smile playing on his lips. 

“Where...  _ the Heaven _ did you learn that trick?” Crowley replied as he came back to himself, returning the kiss. 

“I’d say that I learned all my greatest tricks from the best.” 

“Is that supposed to be me?” 

“Of course!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Now, we really must be going or we’ll miss all the good houses.” 

Crowley stared in awe as Aziraphale made his way back to the cottage, yelling at the kids to put jackets on or they’ll  _ really _ catch their deaths, a faint smile on his lips. 

He really was a bastard. But he was _Crowley's_ bastard. 


	7. "tower"

Aziraphale was pouting. Crowley could feel it from where he was trimming the hedges. He wiped some of the sweat off of his brow and turned to see the angel himself standing with a cup of tea in the back doorway. 

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Hm?” 

“Oh, come off it, you’re pouting!” Crowley sighed, fond and exasperated. “I can feel it from over here.” 

Aziraphale had the gall to look affronted at the accusation. He clutched his pearls and clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner. 

“I am 6,000 years old, dear, I do  _ not _ pout,” Aziraphale took a pointed sip of his tea. 

Crowley rolled his eyes and turned back to the hedges. If Aziraphale didn’t want to talk about what was bothering him, Crowley was just going to leave him be - he knew that he’d eventually hear about it anyways. 

A few moments passed by and Aziraphale moved to sit at the little table under the apple tree. Crowley felt eyes boring into his back, so he turned around again. 

“Are you just going to tell me what’s the matter or am I supposed to guess?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did I leave mud through the house again? Forget to hand wash your fancy little tea set-” 

“It’s an antique, Crowley, you can’t just put it in the dishwasher!” 

“So that  _ is _ it, then?” 

Aziraphale paused. 

“No.” 

Crowley sighed loudly and threw his hands up. Aziraphale eyed him, a mischievous glint. He took a few more sips of tea. Once the tea was finished, he folded his hands over the round of his belly and sighed. 

“You’re taller than me.” 

Crowley, who had gone back to trimming, stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Aziraphale was looking off into the distance and the pout was back. 

“ _ That  _ is what you’re upset about?” Crowley put down the shears and walked toward Aziraphale. “Angel, I can’t exactly help that. Well… I mean, I guess I arguably could. These are just glorified meat suits.” 

Crowley plucked at his skin pointedly. 

“I just feel like you tower over me sometimes,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley kneeled down next to Aziraphale and put his hands over Aziraphale’s, looking him in the eye. He couldn’t tell how serious Aziraphale was about this, but he didn’t want to invalidate his feelings. 

“Well, I dunno, I kinda like that you’re shorter than me,” Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale up to his feet. “It allows me to do all sorts of things.” 

“Like what?” Aziraphale asked, a curious smile playing over his lips. 

Crowley pulled him into a hug and kissed the top of his head. 

“Like that,” Crowley replied. “Or when you’re kinda sleepy and a little drunk while we’re waiting for a cab and you lean your head on my shoulder. Or when I stand behind you, wrap my arms around you, and set my chin on your shoulder like I know you like.” 

Crowley turned Aziraphale around and demonstrated. 

“And I especially like when I do something nice for you and you raise up on your toes a little to give me a kiss,” Crowley punctuated this by giving Aziraphale a kiss on the cheek. “So, I like it. Does that count for something? Also, not to be nit-picky, but you are only three inches shorter than me.” 

Aziraphale dramatically pretended to ponder this for a moment. He looked pleased with himself. 

“I suppose I can learn to live with it.” 

“Learn to live with- angel, I’ve been taller than you for six millennia,” Crowley laughed. “What even started all of this?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t reach my favorite mug because you put it away on the top shelf.” 

Crowley snorted and squeezed Aziraphale tighter, who also began giggling. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“And you’re a string bean.” 

“I’m  _ your _ string bean, though, right?” 

“Of course, love.” 


	8. "evening"

Aziraphale looked up from his book and noticed that the sun had started to set. Crowley should be back from his trip into town soon and Aziraphale decided now was the perfect time to wash the dishes from dinner. 

He put his book down and padded over to the kitchen, wrapping his cardigan a little tighter around his shoulders as the warmth of the blanket he had been under fell to the ground. He picked up the dishes and began running the warm water, dumping a heaping amount of soap into the sink. The methodical action of scrubbing lightly at the plates, rinsing them, and drying them off kept Aziraphale occupied for the next few minutes until he heard the sound of the Bentley approaching the cottage. 

He quickly finished up the last of the glasses and ran back to the couch. He and Crowley had a sort of arrangement in the evenings. It was nothing like their last one, but more of an unspoken agreement where the other thought they were getting the better deal when in fact they both got what they wanted. 

Every evening Aziraphale would read quietly in the living room on the couch, sometimes the fire lit depending on the weather, and Crowley would lay with his head in Aziraphale’s lap, hair being stroked like a particularly needy kitten. 

It was Aziraphale’s favorite part of the day. 

He snuggled into the couch and picked his book up just as Crowley came through the door, throwing his keys onto the hook and kicking off his shoes. 

“Hello, darling,” Aziraphale greeted him. 

“Hiya, angel,” Crowley replied, looking a bit worn out. “Sorry I’m a bit late, the gardening club went over time just a tad. Martha decided to bring up the board election  _ again _ .” 

“When will she let that go?” Aziraphale asked, putting a finger in between the pages he left off in the book. “It was two years ago.” 

Crowley flopped onto the couch, his head landing directly onto Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale laughed. 

“Crowley!” he scolded. “Your head is right on my book.” 

Crowley didn’t make to move and just smiled up at Aziraphale. 

“Ah, come on, we both know that you just pretend to read, anyways,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale looked at him, confused. 

“What? I do not.” Though if Aziraphale thought about it, he did suppose that sometimes the words got a little lost as he focused on Crowley’s soft breathing, the feeling of his silky hair strands running through Aziraphale’s fingers, the warmth of a body pressed so close to his own. He had originally thought this was because he was often re-reading a very well-worn copy of some classic, words long memorized and getting lost in Aziraphale’s head, but maybe Crowley had a point. 

Crowley sat up to grab the blanket from the ground and wrap himself up in it. 

“Yes you do,” Crowley replied, plopping back down into Aziraphale’s lap. “Now, I’ve had a very long day, so please do not pretend to read Chaucer for the eleventieth time and instead give me the attention I deserve. As a treat? I’ve been so well-behaved.” 

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley and tried desperately not to smile. 

“Oh? Have you?” Aziraphale asked. “When did that start?” 

Crowley batted at Aziraphale with his swaddled arm. 

“Hey, I’d say that I have been on my  _ best _ behavior since we moved here,” Crowley said. “I haven’t played  _ one _ trick on Mr. Fleming down the street even though he’s a wanker and I always make sure Mrs. Annie had enough tips in her jar to make it through the rest of the month. So, there.” 

Aziraphale cooed at him.    
  
“Oh my, you’re right, what a good little demon you’ve been,” Aziraphale set his book aside, realizing he wasn’t really going to be getting any reading done. “My nice, wonderful, kind husband.” 

Crowley squirmed under the praise, despite being the one to start it.    
  
“Alright, alright, scream it to the high Heavens, won’t you? I don’t need people thinking I’ve gone all soft,” Crowley said. “Remember, all of it was a ploy to get a  _ reward _ , which is selfish. Properly sinful.”

Aziraphale shuffled them both around so that he was laying on his back, Crowley between his legs, head resting on his chest. 

“Yes, dear, very demonic.” 

“Don’t ‘yes, dear’ me. It’s the truth.” 

Aziraphale started rubbing Crowley’s back slowly and he practically purred. The room was awash in a soft orange hue, as the setting sun hit their front window. He hoped every evening was spent just like this. Warm, soft, and spent holding the love of his life. 

Yes, that sounded like just the reward they both deserved after a very long 6,000 years of duty. 


	9. "hoax"

“Did you know,” Crowley started, tipping over slightly in his seat. “That ‘m th’one who planted th’ Cardiff Giant?” 

Aziraphale looked up from his glass and peered at Crowley, who was perched on the arm of the loveseat that Aziraphale was currently sitting in. 

“No you didn’,” Aziraphale slurred. “That whuz th’ atheist guy, cik-ci-... the cigar guy. He wanted t’make fun of people who took th’ bible lit’rally.” 

Crowley waved his hands and shook his head, once more almost tipping over before Aziraphale caught his sleeve and pulled him up. However, he must’ve tugged a bit too hard, because Crowley fell in a tangle of limbs right into Aziraphale’s lap. 

“Hullo, angel,” Crowley said, looking up at Aziraphale, who giggled. 

“Hello, dearest.” 

“Wot was I sayin’?” Crowley asked and put a finger on his chin to think. “RIGHT! Th’ Cardiff Giant. Wa-wait I need… ‘M gonna sober up cuz I’m tellin’ the truth.” 

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and cringed inwardly. Aziraphale watched as the bottles around them filled back up with hours worth of wine and whiskey. He wondered idly if it was a little gross to drink the regurgitated alcohol before shaking the thought from his head (it was too late to start thinking about that now) and sobered up, himself. 

Once they were both decidedly free from the shackles of inebriation, Crowley settled more comfortably in Aziraphale’s lap and put his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders while Aziraphale settled his hands on Crowley’s hips. 

“Crowley, you did not ‘plant’ the Cardiff Giant,” Aziraphale started, getting right back to business. “The Cardiff Giant was a hoax pulled by an American cigar salesman. I should know, Gabriel had me investigate the entire thing and send up a report.” 

“Well, yes, George Hull is the one who hired the sculptors and had it buried to be ‘discovered,’ but where do you think he got the idea?” Crowley said, with a self-satisfied smile. 

Aziraphale just stared at him. 

“You- you didn’t,” Aziraphale stopped himself when he realized Crowley was serious. “How did we miss each other? Weren’t you sleeping in 1869?” 

“Well I popped over to the States before my big nap to buy these luxurious silk sheets from a guy in New York and met a very disgruntled atheist,” Crowley explained. “And I’m nothing if not an opportunist.” 

Aziraphale sighed, hit with an onslaught of memories from that investigation. 

“You know, I missed you terribly while doing that report,” Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley a little tighter. “I thought it was just the sort of hoax you would find incredibly hilarious - people being tricked into thinking giants really did roam the earth.” 

Crowley leaned forward and kissed his nose. 

“For what it’s worth, you were right,” Crowley whispered. “I did think it was hilarious.” 

Aziraphale knew it was silly, and he didn’t even have the crutch of alcohol anymore, but he felt a lump in his throat and tears form as he thought about that time between their fight in 1862 and Crowley’s 1941 rescue. He shifted Crowley so that his legs bracketed Aziraphale’s thighs and pulled him into a full-fledged hug. God how he'd missed him during that 79-year period. 

“Angel?” Crowley asked, his voice muffled by Aziraphale’s neck. 

“I’m alright, darling, I’m just getting maudlin.” 

They sat there for a few moments, Aziraphale listening to Crowley’s steady heartbeat and rubbing small circles into his back. Eventually they pulled apart and Crowley moved to sit on the ground so he could put his head in Aziraphale’s lap. 

“I did feel a little bad about the hoax,” Crowley said, softly, as Aziraphale began playing with his hair. “So I made the sculptors confess. I dunno why. I think I heard you scold me in my head and fixed it before going to sleep off my embarrassment from our fight.” 

Aziraphale’s fingers stopped their motion through Crowley’s hair at the word “fight,” but he started back up almost immediately. 

It was unrealistic for Aziraphale to believe they’d never have a fight again. They would and, in fact, they already have. Living together was quite a big change, despite spending almost every day together for the last 12 years since the Anti-Christ was born. But what he could do was make a promise that they’d always work to see the other’s point of view and not jump to conclusions. 

“Say, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked as he bent down to kiss the top of Crowley’s head. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Bigfoot, now, do you?” 

Crowley smiled. 

“Well, actually, it’s funny you ask that.” 


	10. "lucky charm"

Aziraphale shrugged on a jacket before following Crowley out of the house. They were heading to the Annual Flower Show that Crowley’s gardening club hosted, and Crowley was getting antsy. 

“Come on, angel, we gotta go,” Crowley said, trying to help Aziraphale into the jacket and handing him his scarf. “I have to be there early!” 

Aziraphale smiled and laced his fingers through Crowley’s. 

“Crowley, we are 4 hours early, it’s fine.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Crowley this nervous. Minus the time he, you know, confessed his love for Aziraphale after a long 6,000 years of pining and fear of rejection only after defeating the forces of Heaven and Hell. But that’s a story for another day. 

They made their way out to the Bentley and ripped out of the driveway. Aziraphale probably would’ve scolded Crowley for his heedless driving a year ago, but for now he had grown used to it and sat primly in the passenger seat while Crowley muttered anxiously to himself about petunias. 

Crowley had been working on his designated patch to grow flowers all month to win the show, even promising to not use any powers at all, which was a feat considering they have gotten a little reckless with miracles and temptations with no one around to keep them in check. 

Crowley was just pulling into the parking lot for the show when he felt around in his jacket pocket and swore. 

“Fuck!” Crowley muttered under his breath. “Nononono, where the Heaven is it? Satan, why today?” 

“Is everything alright, darling?” Aziraphale asked, glancing around to see if he could spot what Crowley was looking for. 

“Yes, everything is fine.” 

“Is it really?” 

A pause. 

“No.” 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile, hoping to calm him down. 

“What is it you’re looking for?” 

Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked out the windshield instead of making eye contact. 

“My, er, lucky charm.” Crowley crossed his arms and shifted his gaze toward the steering wheel. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale hadn’t taken Crowley for someone who held such superstitions. “Well, what does it look like?” 

More mumbling. 

"Sorry, dear, I didn’t quite catch that.” 

“It’s… a feather.” 

Aziraphale blinked. A feather? What sort of bird did the feather belong to that Crowley deemed it a lucky charm. Aziraphale tried to think of any birds Crowley might find particularly interesting. 

“Well, what color?” 

“White.” 

Aziraphale thought. Perhaps a dove? Why would a dove feather be so important? 

The cogs turning in Aziraphale’s mind came to a full halt. He turned in his seat to look at Crowley, who was beginning to blush. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started. “Was it… one of  _ my _ feathers, by chance?” 

Crowley groaned and covered his face with his hands.    
  
“Yeah.” 

Aziraphale felt his insides melt. Crowley kept one of Aziraphale’s wing feathers as a good luck charm and oh, did Aziraphale love him. He reached over to pull Crowley’s hands away from his face and set them on the seat between them before cupping Crowley’s face and giving him a small peck. 

“That’s so sweet, my love,” Aziraphale cooed at him. 

Crowley sighed. 

“Is not, I stole it.” 

“Well however you want to classify it is your business, but I choose to think of it as sweet and adorable,” Aziraphale kissed him again for good measure. “And I just so happen to know where you can get another one.” 

Aziraphale took his hands away from Crowley’s face to reach into the ether and produced a pristine white feather, pinched between his fingers. 

“There, now will that do?” 

Crowley stared at the feather in Aziraphale’s hands and smiled softly. 

“I dunno, angel, I think I might have to bring the source. Just for extra luck, you understand.” 

Aziraphale laughed. 

“Of course, I’ll be right by your side the entire time.” 

“Promise?” 

“Promise. Forever.” 


	11. "indecision"

Crowley held up two red swatches and three black ones. 

“Which one?” he asked, shoving the swatches in front of the book Aziraphale was reading. 

Aziraphale took off his glasses and looked at the swatches, Crowley, and then the swatches again. The three black ones all looked the exact same, but he could see the slight difference in the reds. One seemed… darker? 

“I’m sorry, what was this for, dear?” Aziraphale asked in an effort to buy himself time on making a choice. 

“Just… for… you know, just seeing your preference. I’m indecisive.” 

Aziraphale closed his book and stared at Crowley. He seemed nervous at being caught out and was staring back at Aziraphale. 

“Well, the black ones look about the same to me,” Aziraphale replied. “But I think I prefer the red on the right.” 

“Wha- the- you think these look the  _ same _ ?” Crowley looked affronted at his response. “Angel, this one,” here, he pointed at the one on the right, “is ebony, this one,” the one in the middle, “is obsidian, and this one,” the one on the left, “is onyx.” 

Crowley held them directly in front of Aziraphale’s face as if to force him to see the difference. Aziraphale squinted at the swatches and conceded, again, that they still looked the same. Maybe ebony was slightly more grey.

Aziraphale took a beat to study the fabric of the swatches. 

“Are you getting a new suit?” Aziraphale asked. “Is that what this is about?” 

Crowley pulled the swatches back and held them close to his chest. 

“Ngk, uh something like that, yeah.” 

“Any special occasion?” 

Crowley sighed and plopped onto the couch across from Aziraphale’s reading chair. Aziraphale hoisted himself up and went over to the couch, lifting Crowley’s legs and sitting down, setting said legs in his lap and keeping a light grip on them. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Crowley sighed again. 

“Well, I was thinking-” 

“Never a good thing when you do that.” 

Crowley laughed softly and sat up. Aziraphale was rubbing his thumb gently along Crowley’s calf. Crowley watched the thumb move back and forth for a second before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. 

“Marry me, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s thumb stopped. Crowley seemed to realize what he said and started to explain. 

“Wait, I didn’t-” 

“Yes.” 

Crowley’s jaw dropped. 

“Really? Yes?” 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and his thumb began making small circles again. 

“Darling, I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but I am in fact madly in love with you,” Aziraphale kissed the back of Crowley’s hand. 

Crowley blushed. 

“‘M not sure I deserve someone like you, so you might have to convince me,” Crowley replied. “But you’re serious? You’ll marry me? Proper wedding with rings and all?” 

Aziraphale smiled at him. He was going to beat it into Crowley’s head that he is loved and something to be treasured and held every day for the rest of eternity and that Aziraphale plans to be the one doing the holding and treasuring. 

“Yes, yes, I can already see how handsome you’ll look standing at the aisle in a black suit,” Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed Crowley’s forehead. 

“Now, in this vision of yours, am I wearing,” Crowley pulled out the swatches from his pocket. “Obsidian or ebony?” 

Aziraphale sighed. He wondered idly if Anathema knew of any wedding planners. One on the more unconventional side, of course. 


	12. "vibrations"

_ Vrrbt vrrbt vrrbt  _

Aziraphale groaned and rolled over, accidentally elbowing Crowley in the ribs. Crowley, however, didn’t seem to feel this small, elbowed attack all. He remained peacefully asleep, which was the entire problem. His cell phone had been going off for at least the last two hours, constantly vibrating as Aziraphale tried desperately to doze off. 

_ Vrrbt vrrbt vrrbt _

Aziraphale tried putting a pillow over his head, hoping to drown out the vibrations. 

_ Vrrbt vrrbt vrrbt _

Aziraphale sighed before he remembered he could perform actual magic. He miracled up a pair of earmuffs and closed his eyes, a satisfied smile on his face at having come up with such a brilliant idea. Only he forgot that the funny thing about vibrations is that you can hear them  _ and _ feel them. 

_ Vrrbt vrrbt vrrbt _

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yell-whispered at his snoozing partner. “Crowley!” 

Crowley’s light snoring stopped for a moment, only to start back up a second later. Aziraphale grabbed the pillow he had used to cover his head and smacked Crowley with it. Nothing. 

“Dear, wake up!” Aziraphale was fully yelling now, but Crowley remained unmoving. 

_ Vrrbt vrrbt vrrbt  _

“Oh for goodness-  **_CROWLEY!_ ** ” 

Crowley snorted and shot up out of bed, sitting up straight and looking around wildly, hair sticking out at odd angles. 

“Wuzzat?!” 

Aziraphale pointed at the phone, sitting menacingly on the bedside table next to Crowley. 

“Could you  _ please _ do something about your e-Phone? It has been going off all night,” Aziraphale crossed his arms and sniffed. 

Crowley stared at Aziraphale as his brain booted back up. Finally, he turned his head just as the phone vibrated again. 

_ Vrrbt vrrbt vrrbt _

“That. It has been doing that for hours now.” 

Crowley picked up the phone, swiped on the screen, and the vibrating stopped. Aziraphale sighed with relief. 

“iPhone.” 

“What?” 

“It’s called an ‘iPhone,’ angel.” Crowley was smirking at Aziraphale sleepily. How dare he look adorable and sleep-mussed at a time like this? 

“Whatever it’s called-”

“An iPhone.” 

“ _ Whatever _ it’s called, it’s done vibrating now, yes?” 

Crowley double-checked something on the side of the phone and nodded. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“Sorry, Twitter fight. You know how those go.” 

Aziraphale did not know how those went. He doesn't even know what Titter is. He nods anyways. 

“My, you must be so popular. You got a new message every 24.2 seconds,” Aziraphale replied sarcastically. He scooted back to lay down and faced away from Crowley. 

Crowley’s arms snaked around Aziraphale’s middle and Crowley pressed himself against Aziraphale’s back, kissing the side of his neck. 

“Jealous, are you?” he purred in Aziraphale’s ear. 

“No.”

“Hm. Are you sure?” Crowley snuggled deeper into Aziraphale’s back. 

“Yes. I’m quite cross with you, you know. Every time I was about to finally fall asleep, that blasted contraption would ruin it.” 

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Done now. Promise.”

Aziraphale felt the tension leave his body as sleep finally had room to join the party. He couldn’t stay mad at Crowley. At least the sound hadn’t been on, that would have been an absolute nightmare. Crowley liked to set his text tone as one of the designated alarm sounds, meaning each text resulted in at least 20 seconds of a jingle. 

“I forgive you, then.” Aziraphale turned his head and kissed Crowley softly. “Now, let’s please just go to sleep.” 


	13. "lost"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said it would be a month of softness but....... just a lil angst...... as a treat

Crowley was warm. No, scratch that, Crowley was burning up. He was practically on fire. He whipped his head around, sweat beading on his upper lip. 

He had just been with Aziraphale, but now he was nowhere to be found. They were walking hand-in-hand through the park on their way to feed the ducks, bag of frozen peas on deck, when suddenly everything was on fire. Crowley searched for Aziraphale everywhere, screaming his name until his voice was hoarse. 

“Angel! Aziraphale!” he screamed. He looked around and realized he didn’t know where he was anymore and that he had gotten himself lost. 

“Blasted fire,” Crowley muttered to himself. He tried to re-orient himself when he caught sight of Aziraphale. “Angel! What are you doing?” 

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley and smiled before stepping directly into a nearby flame. Crowley screamed and screamed and then suddenly he was sitting up against an apple tree trunk. He was home, in their garden, safe and decidedly not on fire. 

Aziraphale was bent down in front of him and looked concerned. 

“Darling, oh! You’re awake,” Aziraphale pulled Crowley into a tight hug. “I heard you screaming and came out as soon as I could.” 

Aziraphale was rubbing circles into Crowley’s back and stroking his hair gently. Crowley gripped onto Aziraphale with all his might and tried to will the tears away. It had all felt so real. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Are you really here?” 

Crowley knew it was a silly question, but he had to be sure. 

“I’m here, love, I promise. I’m real and here.” 

Crowley sighed in relief and sagged further down into Aziraphale’s hold. It had just been a nightmare, he must have fallen asleep after pulling out that patch of weeds by the gardenias. 

After a few more moments, Aziraphale pulled back to kiss Crowley’s forehead and brush away a few of the tears Crowley couldn’t keep back. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Aziraphale asked, still using that soft tone. 

Crowley looked away. 

“I lost you.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly at Crowley before brushing himself off and hoisting Crowley to stand up with him. 

“Come inside with me? I have a fresh pot of coffee for you and some muffins in the oven.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand and began to tug him inside. 

“Angel?” Crowley asked. He sounded so small. 

Aziraphale immediately turned around and eyed him worriedly. 

“Yes?” 

“Can you just hold me for a few more minutes?” 

Aziraphale visibly relaxed and pulled Crowley into another hug, squeezing him tightly and burying his nose in Crowley’s neck. 

“For as long as you like.” 


	14. "tomb"

Aziraphale was just cleaning up from his attempt at a souffle when he heard Crowley yelling from the garden. He looked up and out the window just above the sink to see Crowley flailing his arms and running toward the cottage. 

“Crow...ley?” Aziraphale said to himself. He put down the dish towel and jogged over to the door, opening it wide just as Crowley reached it. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” 

Crowley bent over to take a few deep breaths. He put up one finger signaling for Aziraphale to hold off on the questions. 

“There’s no need for dramatics, darling, you don’t even  _ need _ to breathe, let alone be out of breath,” Aziraphale said, attempting at nonchalance. He was trying very hard not to be worried. 

“Angel, I found something- it’s- the- you just have to come see it.” 

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and began tugging him out the door. 

“Crowley! I don’t have shoes on!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “One second, you wily thing.” 

Aziraphale padded over to the front door where his shoes were and slipped them on. He glanced at the coat rack and wondered idly how cold it was outside and how long this might take. He was just about to reach for it when Crowley called for him from the door. 

“Come on, we’re losing daylight!” 

Aziraphale decided to skip the jacket and walked back over to Crowley. They walked through the garden, passing the bushes of flora that Crowley was keeping that most certainly were not native to the South Downs, the apple tree, a few vegetables that Aziraphale thought would be nice to keep for cooking, and reached the edge of their property. 

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley ignored the question and kept moving, pushing aside branches and vines that were in their way. They walked only a few feet into the forest before Crowley stopped suddenly. 

“Okay, we’re here.” 

“Are you going to tell me where ‘here’ is?” Aziraphale asked, looking around. He noticed a hole in the forest ground that seemed to have stairs leading down. 

“I found this while chasing a pest out of the garden,” Crowley explained. 

“By a pest, do you mean those cute little bunnies?” Aziraphale asked and peered over the hole into the pitch black staircase. 

“Don’t. You make them sound all cute and innocent, but they’re menaces to the vegetables,” Crowley said, crossing his arms. “Anyways, I noticed this in the ground and opened it. Wanna come down with me?” 

Aziraphale wasn’t exactly scared. He would be able to sense any demonic beings or harmful creatures if they were down there and so far his angel senses weren’t picking up anything. 

“Sure, but do mind the stairs, they look slippery.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers and produced a small flame to guide their way. Aziraphale scrunched his nose as he made his way down the stairs, the must scent of stagnant stone filling his nostrils. They reached the bottom quickly and found a few names carved into the walls. 

“A tomb?” Aziraphale ran his fingers along the names. 

“Nah, there’s no bodies in here. They must’ve moved them or something.” 

Crowley kicked around a few leaves. He stopped and stared at the ground for a moment before looking up and catching Aziraphale’s eye. 

“What?” Aziraphale asked upon seeing the glint of mischief in Crowley’s expression 

“S’ a condom.” 

Aziraphale gasped and put a hand on his chest. 

“That is so unsanitary. I swear, young people have the lowest standards about where they- what?” 

Crowley was still staring at him, a small smirk on his lips. 

“No.” 

“Come on, Aziraphale, where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“I have standards.” 

Crowley walked toward Aziraphale until he had him cornered between his arms against one of the stone walls. 

“Fair, but,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “What about just a lil snog session,” a kiss on his nose, “I mean, we’re already here and worse things have clearly transpired in this space,” a gentle kiss on the lips. 

Aziraphale felt his face heat up. He put his arms around Crowley’s neck and sighed. 

“One day, your little temptations won’t work on me.”

“I wouldn't count on that day being any time soon, angel.” 


	15. "roots"

The familiar bell above the bookshop door jingled and Crowley slithered his way up to the front desk. Aziraphale was nowhere in sight, but Crowley could hear him humming to himself as he presumably restocked books. 

Crowley looked around as the dust motes, disturbed by his presence, settled back into their little nooks and crannies, highlighted by the soft yellow beam coming through the bay window. Aziraphale had owned this bookshop for over 200 years and there was a piece of him in every stray tea mug, weaved through every book’s spine, snuggled into the soft furniture and the fuzzy rugs. 

Crowley had never been one to stick roots in anywhere. He won’t admit that he did tend to hover around the British Isles due to a certain stuffy angel who had immediately put roots down as soon as he could. 

That made what he was about to ask that much harder. 

He loved Aziraphale and, by some miracle, Aziraphale loved him. He wanted to spend the rest of eternity by his side, loving him, supporting him, holding him, kissing him, knowing him. And he wanted out of the city. 

Avoiding the Apocalypse by a hair made Crowley realize that he felt claustrophobic. Trapped in a city of steel surrounded by humans. He thought they were plenty entertaining, don’t get him wrong, but after all the stress of the last 11 years leading up to what should have been the end of the world, and the last 6,000 years pretending he wasn’t madly and deeply in love, Crowley just wanted a break. 

So he had looked for one - and found it. In a little cottage in the South Downs. 

“Hello, darling, I didn’t hear you come in.” Aziraphale interrupted Crowley’s thoughts as he came out from behind the shelf he was restocking. 

“You know, it’s a wonder you haven’t been robbed yet,” Crowley replied, walking over to kiss Aziraphale sweetly. 

“No one would dare!” 

Crowley chuckled at Aziraphale’s affronted expression. He was probably right. Some clever sod with the idea to rob the poor old gaffer down the street would walk in, immediately feel some sort of foreboding presence hovering around every book, and immediately walk out. 

The bookshop was, for all intents and purposes, another one of Aziraphale’s limbs. As attached to him as his arm or his legs or his wings. It practically shared a heartbeat with him. 

Crowley glanced back at the door to the back room. He thought about all the nights he spent back there, basking in Aziraphale’s warm glow. He spent night after night after afternoon after some mornings being a besotted fool in that room, sitting on that dusty couch. He loved Aziraphale long before this bookshop was even a twinkle in the architect's eye, but he settled into that love here, in that musty back room. 

It was his home as much as it was Aziraphale’s - a safe haven for them both to hind in. To love in. 

Crowley sighed. He wasn’t making this any easier on himself by getting all…  _ sentimental _ . 

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked, voice soft and comforting. 

Crowley couldn’t lie to him, he knew something was up. Time to rip off the bandaid. 

“Angel, love of my life, keeper of my heart,” Crowley started. Aziraphale laughed lightly at the dramatics, the worry never leaving the crease of his brow. “What would you say to a little… extended holiday of sorts?” 

Aziraphale looked surprised. 

“Oh? How extended?” 

“A few years, maybe decades, if you’d like.” 

Aziraphale appeared to be pondering this for a moment before smiling and kissing Crowley’s nose. 

“I think that sounds splendid, and exactly what we need. Where did you have in mind?” 

“Have you ever heard of the South Downs?” 


	16. "sparks"

The first time Crowley kissed Aziraphale, he felt sparks. 

Well, let’s rephrase that a little. 

The first time Crowley kissed Aziraphale wasn’t their first time at all. In fact, that fateful day after the Ritz, with the high of escaping Armageddon still powering them through the day, Aziraphale had kissed Crowley. 

They were walking through the park back to the bookshop, laughing about some silly comment regarding ducks, when Aziraphale’s gaze softened. He looked at Crowley for a second before pushing him against a tree and kissing the laughter out of him. It had tasted like champagne. 

That was a few months ago, now. And Crowley had thought that the little spark that he had felt that first time their lips met would stop. It didn’t. 

He still felt it every time, with every kiss. 

He felt it every morning, when Aziraphale kissed his cheek and whispered “Wake up, dear.” He felt it when he would come up behind Aziraphale to kiss his ear as he made his breakfast tea. He felt it every afternoon, when Aziraphale would come out to the garden to bring Crowley a cool glass of water and place a kiss on his dirt-covered forehead. He felt it when they’d exchange quick kisses before Crowley left to go into town. He felt it when they would exchange slow, sweet kisses on the couch in the evening. He felt it every night before going to bed. 

Every kiss left a trail of sparks and every time Crowley was surprised. 

He decided one day, after wondering when the spark would end, that he didn’t care. He didn’t care to think about when it might end or if it will ever end. Instead, he was going to enjoy it and savor every one. 

And maybe, if he was lucky, the spark would never leave. 


	17. "cold (flu)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> went camping over the weekend so i couldn't update these! time to play catch up

“Angeeeeel,” Crowley called from under many blankets, tucked away in their shared bed. 

Aziraphale walked into the room from his fussing in the kitchen to find said bundle of demonic energy flushed and shaking. He walked over to the side of the bed and sat down next to Crowley, putting his hand palm out on Crowley’s forehead. 

“Dear, you’re burning up,” Aziraphale said, miracling up a thermostat. “More than usual.” 

“Oh? And where are you going to stick that thing?” Crowley wiggled his eyebrows. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and stuck the thermostat in Crowley’s mouth. He waited a few seconds before taking it out and inspecting the number on the small digital screen. 

“Hm, it seems you’re running a fever of 66.6° C,” Aziraphale noted. If Crowley was human, this would be cause for concern and possibly a trip to the emergency room. Crowley, however, was not human and so Aziraphale simply went about treating it as one would a normal cold. “I’m going to get you some herbal tea and tissues, be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” 

Crowley groaned. Demons didn’t get sick. They  _ caused _ sickness. Widespread and terrible, ruining the plans of hundreds of humans everywhere with sore throats and terribly flavored cough drops. 

Crowley sneezed and sniffled pathetically. 

On one hand, he could probably heal himself better. On the other, Aziraphale would have to take care of him like this. And so the prospect of being pampered by the being he is grossly in love with won out over logic (as it often does). 

Crowley waited patiently for Aziraphale to come back, snuggling even further into the blankets to make himself look even more vulnerable. He slapped his cheeks a few times to make his face more flush and blew his nose. 

Aziraphale came back with soup and tea. He set it down on the side table and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. 

“Oh, you poor dear. This is why I told you to stop staying outside for so long after dark, you know it’s getting colder out.” 

Crowley groaned. 

“I told you, angel, I have to whip those mums into shape or they’ll never bloom in time for the autumn garden show.” 

Aziraphale gave him a pitying look and moved to get up. 

“Wait!” Crowley shot up from bed. 

Aziraphale turned and shot a bemused look at the suddenly energetic Crowley. Crowley sunk back down into the covers and mumbled. 

“What was that, darling?” 

Crowley sighed.

“I said… could you… you know… stay and take care of me?” 

Aziraphale’s look softened. 

“You know, Crowley, you don’t have to pretend to be sick for me to dote on you.” 

Aziraphale walked over to the bed again and kissed Crowley’s cheek. He nudged Crowley, indicating he should scoot over, and crawled under the covers with him. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Aziraphale said as he adjusted his position so that Crowley could lay his head right on his chest, swaddled in a soft cardigan. “But I am disgustingly besotted with you. You don’t need to be sick for me to give you a cuddle or spend extra time with you.” 

Crowley nuzzled Aziraphale’s neck and buried himself into the softness of Aziraphale’s chest. 

“So you wouldn’t mind spending all day just like this?” Crowley asked as he peppered kisses on Aziraphale’s neck. 

“Why just a day? Let’s spend the week here.” 


	18. "photography"

“Say ‘cheese’!” Adam yelled as he bound into the cottage. 

Crowley and Aziraphale flinched as a bright flash briefly blinded them. Adam smiled at his camera and took off into the living room as Anathema and Newt followed. 

“Sorry about that, Deidre said he’s been getting into photography lately,” Anathema explained as she shed her coat and hung it on the rack. “He’s been taking photos the entire week he’s been with us.” 

Aziraphale blinked a few times and smiled at Anathema. 

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to discourage any creativity,” Aziraphale replied. “Especially if he’s having fun.” 

Crowley heard Adam open the door to the garden and ran to make sure he didn’t get into the begonias again. 

“Are you sure you guys can handle him? The Youngs won’t be back for another few days…” Newt said. 

Aziraphale shook his head and waved a hand at her. 

“We are 6,000 years old, dear boy, we can handle three days with a 13-year-old.” 

Anathema eyed him warily. 

“If you say so.” 

Aziraphale led the couple into the kitchen and made a few cups of tea, gathered a packet of biscuits, and a few chunks of cheese, before heading out to the table in the garden, just under the shade of the apple tree. 

Crowley was keeping a close eye on Adam and Adam was happily snapping photos of everything he saw. Crowley didn’t want to admit it, but he was terribly fond of the young Not-Anti-Christ. He was rebellious, liked to cause a bit of mischief, he was clever, but most importantly he knew when things had gone too far and actively worked to avoid situations where anyone would get deeply hurt. 

He was proud of the person Adam was becoming. 

Crowley cringed inwardly - too many sappy feelings. 

He heard Book Girl and her fiancé chatting with Aziraphale over by the apple tree. Crowley momentarily forgot about watching Adam and admired the way the sun hit Aziraphale’s hair. It practically glowed around his face, cheeks a little pink from the heat. The country really did wonders on him, he looked beautiful and happy and free. 

Crowley stared at him for another beat before hearing a ‘click’ sound and whipping his head around to see Adam standing just in front of him. 

“Oi! What was that for?” 

Adam lowered the camera and flashed a big smirk at Crowley. 

“Just takin’ a photo of you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you looked so happy. Want to see it?” 

Crowley put his hand out and Adam placed the camera gently in it. Crowley flicked on the screen to the last image and saw himself. He looked… well, he looked like a lovesick puppy. 

“Do you like it?” Adam asked, eyes big. 

Crowley sighed. 

“Yeah, kid, I love it.” 

“You do? Awesome! I’m gonna go show Mr. Aziraphale.”

And with that, Adam took off across the garden, Crowley chasing him, right toward where the rest of the group was sitting. 

“Mr. Aziraphale, look at this picture I took of Mr. Crowley while he was looking at you!” Adam shoved the camera in Aziraphale’s face just as Crowley tried to snatch it away. 

Aziraphale looked between Crowley and Adam and must have decided that it wasn’t worth it to ask and simply looked at the photo. He put a hand to his heart and cooed. 

“Oh, darling-” 

“Don’t.” 

Crowley crossed his arms and looked away, hoping to hide his blush. He didn’t need the humans to know how soft he had gotten. 

Aziraphale stood up, gave Crowley a quick peck on the lips, complimented Adam on his lovely photo, and asked him if he could get a printed copy of this particular photo. 

He wanted to hang it in the living room for everyone to see.


	19. "terror"

Crowley came stomping into the cottage, startling Aziraphale as he tried to carefully measure flour for the new bread recipe he wanted to try out. 

Crowley huffed and plopped down onto a stool and thumped his forehead against the island countertop. 

“Is it your furry visitor, again?” Aziraphale asked, pouring the flour into the mixing bowl. 

Crowley groaned but didn’t answer, which Aziraphale took as a ‘yes.’ 

Crowley could get like this sometimes when he was feeling particularly frustrated, so Aziraphale continued collecting ingredients, adding water and yeast, and formed a ball of dough that needed to proof for another few hours. 

Once he cleaned up the flour and washed his hands, he came over to perch on the stool next to Crowley and began rubbing his back lightly. 

“What did the little terror get into this time?” Aziraphale asked, making small circle motions along Crowley’s spine. 

Crowley sat up. “It trampled all through my petunias and nibbled on a few heads of cabbage.” 

Crowley had been dealing with a critter of sorts treating the garden like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Snacking on everything from flowers to vegetables to one of the gloves that Crowley had accidentally left behind one evening. 

He hadn’t been able to catch the menace, but it must be some sort of raccoon or maybe a spiteful squirrel. Aziraphale did tell Crowley to not be so rude to the woodland creatures lest they come back for revenge. 

“Why don’t you set a trap, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “One that doesn’t hurt it, of course.” 

“Of course,” Crowley mumbled. 

Crowley thought for a moment. He supposed the only real way to solve this was to catch the bastard, himself. 

“Alright, I guess that’s a good idea.” 

Aziraphale beamed at Crowley and stood up to continue his bustling around the kitchen. Crowley peeled himself off of the stool and came around the counter to help with dinner preparations, the creature terrorizing his garden momentarily forgotten. 

The next morning, Crowley woke up and heard a mewling from outside. 

“Angel, do you hear that?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, who was still clinging to Crowley in as tight a grip as one very sleepy being could. 

“What’s that, dear?” Aziraphale opened his eyes reluctantly. Crowley may be the pro sleeper but Aziraphale was starting to get the hang of it, often sleeping in and only rising once Crowley got up. 

They both were quiet for a second before the mewls started up, again. 

“Oh! It must be your trap. Let’s go take a look-see.” Aziraphale softened his grip and kissed Crowley’s cheek before getting up out of bed and putting on his housecoat. 

A few moments later, they were outside, looking at the cage Crowley had set up the day before. Inside was… a… 

“Oh, Crowley, it’s a kitten!” Aziraphale cooed. “Look how adorable it is.” 

Crowley scowled at the small, black cat that was now looking with large eyes at the pair of them. Aziraphale moved to open the cage before Crowley stopped him. 

“Don’t coddle it! It’ll think what it’s been doing to my garden is welcome!” 

Aziraphale tsk’d at Crowley and grabbed the cat, bringing it up to his face to snuggle it. The cat was loudly purring and closed its eyes as Aziraphale held it. 

“Dear, look how precious she is,” Aziraphale said, scratching under the small kitten’s chin. “Can we keep her?” 

Crowley spluttered a few syllables. 

“No.” 

“Whyever not?” 

Crowley made a wide motion with his arms, gesturing to the entire garden. 

“Because it’s a terror, remember?!” Crowley was eyeing the cat in Aziraphale’s arms warily. It already looked far too comfortable there. Was Crowley jealous of a cat? No, of course not. 

Aziraphale pet the cat as it started purring louder. 

“But if we keep her inside, she won’t be out here to terrorize the garden,” Aziraphale held the cat up so it was looking at Crowley, eyes wide and pupils blown. “Pleeeeeeeeeeease?” 

Crowley looked between the cat and Aziraphale before sighing. Aziraphale beamed and the cat meowed. 


	20. "grey"

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat. This was not the usual wiggling, which usually meant he was very happy or pleased with something. This was an uncomfortable wiggle. 

“Something wrong?” Crowley asked, his head laying on Aziraphale’s lap. “You keep movin’ around.” 

Aziraphale stopped the wiggling and sighed. 

“I think it’s my wings,” Aziraphale replied. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken them out and I’m getting quite itchy.” 

Crowley put down his phone and sat up - starting Twitter arguments will have to wait. He walked around to behind the couch and put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Why don’t I have a look, hm? We haven’t groomed each other since-” 

“Yes, yes, since that one time in Cyprus.” Aziraphale remembered it fondly. He had never felt more at ease, more comfortable, and more relaxed than under the hands of his wily adversary. The thought, at the time, had horrified him and he fled as soon as Crowley was done, making up some poor excuse. 

“Why don’t we go to the bedroom so I can stretch out properly,” Aziraphale said, standing up and making for their room. “Don’t want to knock over any of my valuables.” 

“Yes, whatever would we do if you accidentally damaged some of your 2,000 knickknacks.” 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at Crowley as they walked through the doorway and began to shed his shirt. He could feasibly do this with his shirt on and just miracle holes for his wings, but he would always know the holes had been there, and so really, this was much easier. 

As soon as he took off his undershirt, he sat on the bed, back facing Crowley. It was amazing what a few thousand years of friendship (acknowledged or not) could do to someone’s trust. Aziraphale can still remember a time when he wouldn’t take his eyes off of Crowley for fear that he might try something uncouth. They were enemies, after all. 

“Alright, angel, lemme see them.” 

Aziraphale exhaled and heard the telltale  _ WOOSH _ as his wings extracted themselves from the ether in which they were usually stored. Crowley began working his fingers through the primaries when he stopped and made a sound. 

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale asked after a moment of silence. 

“Ngh, er, um, this- this might hurt. One second.” Crowley plucked a feather out of Aziraphale’s wing and held it in front of him.

It was grey. 

“Oh. That’s new.” 


	21. "eleven"

_ Summer, 2019 _

Eleven years. He had had 11 years to tell the angel how he really felt. 

Well, in all honesty, he had had around 6,000 years to tell him, but let’s not dive into specifics. Crowley is having a  _ moment _ here. 

As they sat side-by-side watching Warlock be dragged by his mother around the park, Crowley thought about all of the wasted time. He wouldn’t have wasted it if he knew it was coming to an end so quickly. He thought he had time, he thought they all had time.

He shifted in his seat as Warlock wrote more derogatory words on the placards in front of each statue he passed. He hoped it was enough, he hoped that the last 11 years weren’t a waste and that they counted for something. They had to. Because there was no way he was leaving this planet without telling Aziraphale that he was in love with him, and had been since they met. 

It was cheesy and grossly romantic. “Love at first sight,” blegh. It made Crowley sick, but it was true. He loved him from the first moment their eyes met. He sneered at the kid. Stupid Anti-Christ had to go and be born right when Crowley had started to gather the courage to confess his feelings. 

If Crowley was being honest with himself, Armageddon starting at least was giving him a set time limit. And yet he still hadn’t said anything. He risked a side-glance at Aziraphale. 

Satan, he loved him. 

They made to leave and Crowley thought he might try saying something now. 

“Hey, uh, angel?” Crowley asked, his heart swooping. 

Aziraphale turned to give him a quizzical look. 

“Yes, Crowley?” 

Crowley took a deep breath. He couldn’t do it. Even after all this time, even after being given an explicit time limit, after 6,000 years of building a relationship. He couldn’t do it. 

“Lunch?” Crowley flinched at his own deflection. 

“Of course!” Aziraphale beamed at him. “I just heard about this new pub down the way that serves just marvelous chips and it reminded me of the time we-” 

Crowley smiled as Aziraphale reminisced on the meals they’ve shared over the centuries. 

Maybe one day he could do it. 


	22. "basement"

“Where do you suppose it leads?” Crowley asked, eyeing the doorway skeptically. 

Aziraphale scratched his chin in thought. The door certainly hadn’t been there yesterday. He would know, he’s owned this bookshop for over 200 years. 

“I’m not sure.” 

They stood in silence, staring at the door, for a little over another minute before Crowley finally stepped forward and opened it, a loud creek releasing from its hinges. The basement below smelled a bit stale and dusty, but otherwise harmless. Crowley held onto the door frame and put his foot down, searching for the first step (if there even  _ were _ steps). 

As soon as he felt soft wood hit the sole of his boot, he released his grip on the frame and began walking down slowly. 

“Coming, angel?” he called, turning to look at Aziraphale. “I’ll protect you, if you’re scared.” 

Crowley smiled playfully at him and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, how brave.” He took Crowley’s outstretched hand and followed him down the rickety stairs to see what was below. 

There were only a few more stairs before they came to the bottom. Crowley snapped and light flooded the room. Aziraphale gasped and released Crowley’s hand to put it to his chest in shock. 

“Oh… good Lord,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Before them was a room full of things. Cream colored outfits, extravagant statues and decorations, boxes, desks, a few bookshelves. It looked like a museum. Upon closer inspection, Aziraphale recognized many of the things. In fact, he recognized  _ all  _ of the things - for they were his. 

“Aziraphale, what is this?” Crowley asked, walking around and touching various objects. 

Aziraphale was inspecting one of the outfits. He remembered this robe, he wore it in Rome when he was performing miracles. He smiled at the memory. That’s when he had run into Crowley at the pub, drinking and looking melancholy in his laurels. The outfit next to that one was shiny and detailed, he spotted a red hat sitting atop the golden-laced jacket. Ah yes, the Reign of Terror. 

The hat wasn’t part of the original outfit, but was a result of Crowley’s daring rescue. Aziraphale had left in the entire revolutionary disguise, but he had  _ so _ liked that jacket. Once the wearer was, er, no longer using it, he miracled it back to his possession. 

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale replied. “These seem to be all of my things, at the very least.” 

Aziraphale moved away from the row of outfits and over to one of the boxes. He opened it and picked up one of the letters inside. Two lines in, he quickly stuffed the letter back into the box and shut the lid. 

“What?” Crowley asked. 

“Nothing!” 

“No, not ‘nothing,’” Crowley walked over to the box Aziraphale was trying to hide. “You look like you saw a ghost, what is it?” 

Aziraphale sighed. He grabbed Crowley’s hand and rubbed his thumb along the back of it. He had forgotten that he didn’t need to hide anymore. He and Crowley were together, forever. They didn’t need to pretend that they were anything other than soppily in love, and perhaps had been for quite some time. 

“Sorry, old habits and all that.” 

Crowley quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“These are… letters,” Aziraphale started slowly. “To you. From me. Over the centuries.” 

“You wrote me letters?” Crowley asked as a big grin spread across his face. 

Aziraphale blushed. 

“Well, yes, when I was particularly missing you,” Aziraphale replied. “I didn’t send them, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Crowley echoed. “May I read some?” 

Aziraphale looked from the box to Crowley and nodded. Crowley picked up a letter and began reading, his other hand never leaving Aziraphale’s. After a few moments of reading various different letters, he looked up. A few tears in his eyes. 

“Man, you really loved me, huh?” Crowley’s voice broke a little on the last word. 

“Oh, darling, I still do.” 

Aziraphale released his hand to wrap Crowley in a full hug. They latched onto each other and Crowley sniffled into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“I think I know what this basement is,” Aziraphale said, petting Crowley’s hair and placing a kiss on his temple. “It’s like a memory box. Of all the times I’ve continued to love you, even when I shouldn’t have.” 

Crowley sniffled, again, and pulled back to kiss Aziraphale long and slow. They beamed at each other while Aziraphale wiped the tears off of Crowley’s cheeks. 

“You’re an old sap,” Crowley said, going back in for another hug. 

Aziraphale squeezed him tight and thought back to the large statue in Crowley’s Mayfair flat.

_ I’m not the only one, _ he thought, laughing as he peppered Crowley’s face with kisses. 


	23. "virgin"

Crowley shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth, listening to the satisfying crunch and inhaling the butter-filled bubble surrounding him. He washed it down with a huge gulp of a fizzy strawberry-flavored drink and smacked his lips. 

“Come on, angel!” he called out from the couch. “If we don’t start it soon, you’ll fall asleep before the end.” 

Crowley flicked through the various streaming services before landing on the movie he had been searching for - Halloween (1978). Autumn had just started to let its presence be known in the South Downs, and Crowley was taking the cold weather and subsequent inability to be outside, as an opportunity to show Aziraphale a few of his favorite scary movies. 

Aziraphale puttered in from the kitchen and plopped down on the couch next to Aziraphale. 

“What’s all this?” Crowley asked, eyeing up the pile of snacks Aziraphale had brought with him. 

“Well, you have to have snacks for a movie or else it won’t be enjoyable,” Aziraphale stated. 

Crowley smiled at him and grabbed a croissant from his plate. 

“Agree to disagree, but I will be taking this, thank you very much.” 

Crowley clicked ‘play’ and the movie began. Aziraphale paid rapt attention, not even taking an eye off the screen to reach for a nibble and jumping slightly when the killer came on screen. Crowley had finished his popcorn about 10 minutes ago and was now trying to figure out the logistics of how to get his head in Aziraphale’s lap without Aziraphale noticing or dropping any of his food. 

“Oh, I do hope the poor girl lives,” Aziraphale said as Jamie Lee Curtis discovered her friends’ dead bodies. 

“Don’t worry - she’ll live, she’s a virgin.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he turned to look at Crowley. 

“Pardon my French, but what the Hell does that have to do with the movie?” Aziraphale set the remaining snacks (one half of a croissant, approximately two cookies, and a handful of cashews) on the table and turned to face Crowley, who paused the movie. 

“Well, in scary movies, there’s this trope that the virgin always lives and the, er, the ‘sluts’ die early.” 

Aziraphale just stared at Crowley. 

“That’s horrible.” 

“I know.” 

“And no way to talk about wome-” 

“I  _ know _ , angel,” Crowley sighed. “I’m just telling you. That’s the trope. I certainly didn’t come up with it.” 

Aziraphale sat in thought for a moment. 

“Why do you suppose that is, though?” he asked, popping the half of remaining croissant in his mouth.

“Maybe it’s all some nefarious scheme to get girls and women to think that, like, being a virgin means you aren’t as focused on sex and therefore could more feasibly come up with a plan to evade the killer?” Crowley offered. “Or you had more time to do homework or something?” 

Aziraphale hummed his assent. He had always hated how humans put such an emphasis on virginity, a concept they had formed completely on their own. God certainly hadn’t said anything on the matter, but the humans sure did like using Her as a mouthpiece for their opinions on the chastity of young women. 

“Humans,” Aziraphale whined. “You’d think they would have progressed a bit more in 6,000 years.” 

Crowley took this opportunity to sneak himself onto Aziraphale’s now snack-free lap and wiggled around until he was comfortable. Aziraphale’s hands came up as if of their own volition and began weaving through Crowley’s hair. 

“Shall we continue the movie?” Crowley asked as he practically nuzzled into Aziraphale’s touch. 

“I suppose,” Aziraphale reached for the remote. “Only there is one thing…” 

“What?” 

“You spoiled the ending.” 

Crowley groaned. Aziraphale laughed. They watched the rest of the movie anyway. 


	24. "ink"

“You know, dear,” Aziraphale started one day, startling Crowley as he was inspecting the vegetable garden. “I was thinking about your tattoo.” 

Crowley stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. 

“Tattoo?” Crowley took the glass of water Aziraphale was handing to him and gulped down half the glass. “Oh, right. This tattoo.” Crowley pointed at the spot just next to his right ear. 

“S’not really a tattoo, though,” Crowley continued, picking up his supplies and heading for the cottage. “More like a physical manifestation of my demonic nature. A mark of Cain of sorts.” 

Aziraphale followed behind him, his hands worrying at his waistcoat. 

“Yes, well, I was thinking of it and I, er, want one… of my own, that is.” 

Crowley stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Aziraphale directly. He studied him for a moment, a small smile breaking out across his face. 

“You? Getting a tattoo?” Crowley asked. He was on the verge of giggling. 

Aziraphale pouted. 

“What’s so funny about that?” he crossed his arms and sniffed. “It was just a thought, I thought it would be cool.” 

Crowley’s grin softened and he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s middle from behind. 

“And what were you thinking of getting?” Crowley purred into Aziraphale’s ear. “A halo? Maybe a Psalm tramp stamp?” 

Aziraphale blushed and looked at his feet. 

“No, I rather thought- oh forget it. It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.” 

Aziraphale tried to untangle himself from Crowley’s hold but found that the arms wrapped around him gripped tighter. 

“No, angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “If you really want to do this, then I support it. Go on, tell me your idea.” 

“Fine. A black feather. On my back at the base of my neck, in the spot you always kiss in the morning before we get out of bed.” 

Crowley’s heart practically stopped. That was- oh. That was not what he had been expecting. He thought Aziraphale would be the type to go in for the kitschy tattoos angel wings or maybe a quote from a book he really liked. This was… much more sentimental. 

Crowley pulled back. 

“Take off your shirt.” 

“What-” 

“Come on, just trust me.” 

Aziraphale started slowly unbuttoning his waistcoat and held it in his arms when he was finished. Then he unbuttoned his undershirt. Before he could take it off, Crowley put his hands on Aziraphale’s back and slid the shirt so it hung off his shoulders. Aziraphale shivered as a chill ran up his spine. 

Crowley leaned forward and kissed the spot at the base of Aziraphale’s neck. When he pulled away, a small, black feather was tattooed on the skin there. 

“There you go,” Crowley said, stepping back to inspect his work. “No need for a human to touch you with their shaky hands or painful needles.” 

Aziraphale felt at the spot and smiled big. He ran into the cottage, straight to the bathroom to see his new tattoo. Aziraphale had never added anything to his corporation (he only just barely changed his hairstyle and wardrobe). 

“Oh, darling, I love it,” Aziraphale said as he felt along the tattoo. “Thank you so much.” 

Aziraphale gave Crowley a quick peck on the lips and then moved to go into the living room, picking up the phone. 

“I can’t wait to tell Anathema about my new ‘ink.’” 


	25. "orange"

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’s been taking a lot of deep breaths lately. He feels like he can here, where the breeze is infused with sea salt and the sunshine practically sparkles through his lungs. The city was too congested, too filled with the thick smog of humanity and their tainted existence. 

Distantly he heard the back door open, but he was far above the cottage. Flying through the wind and letting it tousle his hair. 

Aziraphale sat down across from him and sipped his tea. 

“Wow,” Aziraphale breathed. Crowley cracked open an eye and watched as Aziraphale admired the sunset. “It’s gorgeous.” 

Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand in his and rubbed his thumb across Aziraphale’s knuckles. They sat in silence, Aziraphale periodically sipping tea, watching as the sun set, shooting bright orange beams across the sky. 

Crowley almost missed it, he was too busy admiring the serene look on Aziraphale’s face. 

“Marry me, angel.” 

Aziraphale laughed into his darjeeling. 

“Dear, we’re already married. We had a whole party, you were there.” 

“Divorce me so we can get married again.” 

Aziraphale chuckled some more at that. Terror trotted up to them and meowed her hello as she rubbed herself between their legs. Aziraphale reached down to pet her and scratch between her ears. Crowley knew he shouldn’t have let him keep that damn cat. 

“I don’t know if that’s practical,” Aziraphale started, the smile still on his face. “We only  _ just  _ made it official.” 

Crowley groaned and stood up, releasing Aziraphale’s hand. He walked over to the chair and straddled Aziraphale’s lap, putting his arms around his neck, and put on his best pout. 

“What about in a few decades, hm?” Aziraphale conceded. “I suppose the marriage certificate will have to expire eventually.” 

Crowley studied Aziraphale’s face, the way his white-blonde curls were tinted orange with the fading light, the way his face was relaxed and calm, the way his eyes damn-near glowed as they bore into Crowley’s own. 

“Promise?” 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand, again, and brought it to his lips. 

“Promise,” he pressed a gentle kiss onto each of Crowley’s fingers. “I will marry you again and again and again until marriage no longer exists. I’ll marry you until the end of Earth, the end of time.” 

A lazy grin made its way onto Crowley’s face and he sat there, looking at Aziraphale like a lovesick puppy, all the way until the sun and all its vibrancy took its final breath. 


	26. "swing"

“Dance lessons?” Crowley said out loud as he poked at his phone. 

“What was that, dear?” Aziraphale called from his spot on the couch. Crowley had gotten up to make Aziraphale another mug of hot cocoa and now he was staring incredulously at his phone. 

Crowley walked back over to the couch and plopped down next to him. His hands were notably empty of hot cocoa. 

“Book-  _ Anathema _ just texted me about her wedding to Four Eyes.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He knew Crowley knew their proper names, but if he wanted to pretend he didn’t in order to keep up his “cool” image, Aziraphale simply resigned to let him. 

“What does that have to do with dancing?” Aziraphale asked. He snapped a steaming mug of cocoa into existence and took a sip. 

“She said they’re taking swing lessons for the reception and they want us to come with them,” Crowley grimaced. Neither of them were particularly good at dancing. Crowley just sort of flailed about and Aziraphale, well, he only knew one very outdated dance. 

“We should,” Aziraphale loved learning new things and he loved Crowley and he loved learning new things with Crowley. “Oh, it would be so fun, don’t you think?” 

Crowley did not think. 

“Angel, we’re terrible at dancing.” 

Aziraphale huffed and looked away, taking another sip from his mug. He thought it would be a jolly good time, learning a new dance. He didn’t care that they were naturally bad, all that mattered was that they were bad together. 

“Fine, fine, tell her we can’t make it,” Azirphale replied. He patted Crowley’s leg as he stood to go make a plate of biscuits. 

Crowley stared at the spot on his leg that Aziraphale had patted.

“Well, I mean… maybe we wouldn’t be… so bad. I mean, there’d be an instructor.” 

Aziraphale visibly perked up. 

“Oh, really?” he breathed, a bright smile gracing his face. 

“Yes, I want to try. Together.” Crowley smiled back at Aziraphale for a beat before turning back to text Anathema. 

  
************

“That was Hell,” Crowley groaned, kicking off his shoes. 

Aziraphale came through the door behind him and didn’t even bother taking his shoes off before falling over onto the couch. 

“Who knew that dancing required so much…  _ energy _ ?” Aziraphale said into a pillow. 

Crowley lifted up Aziraphale’s legs and set them back down on his lap. He took off Aziraphale’s shoes and began removing the socks. He rubbed at Aziraphale’s ankles and began massaging the bridge of his foot. 

Aziraphale’s moan was muffled by the couch cushion his head was currently lodged in. 

They sat like that for a few more minutes, Crowley idly kneading Aziraphale’s feet and Aziraphale making small, muffled noises. 

“Darling?” Aziraphale said, lifting his head up. 

“Mmh?” 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale slid his foot out of Crowley’s hand and turned around so he could give his forehead a kiss. “I know you didn’t want to go, but I really appreciate it.” 

Crowley lurched forward and gave Aziraphale a proper kiss. 

“Now, you owe me one.” 

“Crowley! That is not how that works!” 


	27. "light"

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley. They were sitting in the Bentley, having just completed the journey from London to their small cottage, tucked away in the South Downs. This was it. They had moved. After centuries of staying in one city, they were finally at their new home. 

Sure, they had moved plenty of times before - hard not to when you’ve been on Earth as long as they have. But this move was different. This move was together. 

Aziraphale clutched at the house keys in his hand. 

“Well, best get a wiggle on,” Aziraphale said, shooting a nervous look at Crowley. “Come on, dear.” 

Crowley followed Aziraphale in a daze before shooting an arm out to stop him just before reaching the threshold. 

“What is it, love?” 

“Mnh, eh,” Crowley was still getting used to Aziraphale’s new, gratuitous use of pet names. “I wanna try out a human tradition.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head curiously. 

“And what’s tha-” he was cut off as Crowley scooped him up into his arms, bridal style. “Crowley! Put me down!” 

“Not a chance, angel,” Crowley said, smiling. “I finally have you, there’s no way I’m letting you go now.” 

Aziraphale tried to scramble out of Crowley’s hold for a few more seconds before resigning to his fate and wrapping his arms around Crowley’s neck. Crowley kicked the door open and proudly walked them over the threshold. 

“You can put me down now, dear, I must be heavy.” 

“Nonsense. You’re light as a feather.” 

Crowley took a few more steps before setting Aziraphale on the couch and plopping gently on top of him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Crowley apologized as Aziraphale sighed. “I’ve just seen so many movies where newlyweds enter their first home together like that, so I figured - why not?” 

Aziraphale pet Crowley’s hair and kissed the crown of his head. 

“We aren’t newlyweds, though,” Aziraphale said, letting his hand wander down from Crowley’s hair to cupping his cheek. 

“Not yet,” Crowley mumbled. 

“What was that, dear?” 

“Nothing.” 


	28. "bridge"

Aziraphale nearly tripped over himself as he stepped up onto the bridge, the fog thickening with every passing moment. Crowley was somewhere in front of him, but he couldn’t see more than a few inches ahead. 

“Darling?” Aziraphale called out in a whisper. 

“Right here, angel,” Crowley replied, coming up next to Aziraphale to grab his arm. “Fog’s a nice touch, huh?” 

“So this is your doing, then? I can’t see a thing.” Aziraphale reached a hand out to try and steady himself. Somewhere there had to be a railing. 

“Of course,” Crowley preened. “Had to make sure it was proper spooky for the kids.” 

Almost on cue, the Them began screaming and ran toward the general direction of Aziraphale and Crowley. Adam ran directly into Aziraphale, screaming before he realized who it was. 

While Aziraphale had been a little apprehensive about taking the kids with them to America via miracle, Crowley insisted that Halloween was just better in the States, and told the group all sorts of tales about famous haunted locations. This was how they now found themselves traversing a very rickety bridge in Argyle, Texas at midnight. 

“Oh, it’s just you, Mr. Aziraphale,” Adam breathed out and the Them stopped screaming behind him. 

“Yes, dear boy, who else would it be?” Aziraphale 

“Goatman.”

“Who-” 

“That’s right, Adam, and he could be lurking anywhere within this fog,” Crowley cut Aziraphale off and looked around in false terror. “Why, he could even be right BEHIND YOU!” 

Adam and the Them jumped and whipped their heads around. Nothing was there, but everyone had the eerie feeling that they were being watched. 

“Actually, my dad said that demons aren’t real,” Wensleydale piped up. 

Crowley gave him a Look. Pepper smacked him upside the head. 

“We are literally here  _ because _ of a demon, you twit.” 

Adam puffed out his chest and started walking toward the bridge. 

“Oi! Adam, what are you doing?” Crowley called out. 

Adam turned around and faced the group. He was just about to tell them that he had seen these two guys on YouTube walk on this very bridge, and they had come out just fine, when he felt something breathe down his neck. 

The Them all froze in horror as Adam turned slowly around to find himself face-to-face with a satyr. Its eyes were glowing red, its horns were sharp and stood about 8 feet above Adam. He screamed and ran for the Bentley, which had been parked just off the bridge’s north entrance. 

The rest of the Them followed, tripping over each other to get back to the car. Aziraphale turned to Crowley, worry etched on his face. 

“Dear…” 

Crowley walked up to the satyr and put out his hand. 

“Bill! ‘S great to see you, old friend.” The satyr took Crowley’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. 

“Crowley, you old bastard.” 

Aziraphale walked up behind Crowley, snapping to miracle the kids a few blankets and snacks to keep them satiated in the car. He also locked the doors for good measure. 

“Bill, I want you to meet my husband, Aziraphale,” Crowley pushed Aziraphale forward. “Angel, this is Bill. Old friend of mine, we go way back.” 

Aziraphale shook Bill’s hand- er, hoof? 

“Charmed,” Aziraphale said and gave his best polite smile. “You gave the kids quite a fright, you know.” 

Bill laughed, loud and booming. 

“Yeah, Crowley here told me you were bringing a group of kids,” Bill scratched his goatee. “Figured I’d give them a little show.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. He hadn’t met other demons that weren’t Crowley that were so… friendly. 

“Well, I think we should get going. This’ll keep the kids entertained for the next, oh, week or so,” Crowley reached out and patted Bill’s shoulder. “Thanks, again. ‘Til next time.” 

Bill nodded at them. 

“See you, Crow. Don’t be a stranger, maybe you can bring your husband over to meet the wife and kids - no pun intended.” 

“Yes, let’s set up a dinner date,” Crowley called over his shoulder. He and Aziraphale made it back to the car a few seconds later. 

“Funny,” Aziraphale started. “I always thought you were more the one to burn bridges.” 

“Haha, very funny,” Crowley fake laughed. “Take it from me, angel - it pays to have friends in low places.” 


	29. "red"

“And can I have a muffin for my husband?” Crowley asked the saleswoman at the little coffee shop they had stopped in. “That’ll be all.” 

Aziraphale felt himself blush. The cashier smiled warmly at Crowley and rang them up. A few minutes later, they were seated at a table, Aziraphale nibbling at the muffin while Crowley sipped his coffee and stole crumbs. 

“You know, I still love seeing your reaction to that,” Crowley started, smiling to himself. “Almost a decade of being married, yet without fail you blush that pretty shade of red when I call you 'husband' in public.” 

“Yes, well," Aziraphale felt himself heat up again at being caught out. "It's still a little unbelievable." 

“It’s okay, angel,” Crowley reached over and put his hand on top of Aziraphale’s. “I love it. And I love you. So, so much.” 

Aziraphale resisted the urge to look away, choosing instead to look right into Crowley’s eyes. 

“I love you, too, my darling.” 

Crowley smiled as his face turned pink. Aziraphale knew that Crowley favored that pet name, since Aziraphale did tend to go around calling  _ everyone _ ‘dear.’ But ‘darling?’ Oh, ‘darling’ was just for Crowley. 

“You did that on purpose,” Crowley accused, lifting Aziraphale’s hand and kissing his knuckles. 

Aziraphale smiled knowingly.

“Maybe.”

They finished their muffin and coffee, respectively, in silence - hands never separating, wearing matching blushes, and exchanging besotted looks. 


	30. "dream"

Aziraphale buried his toes deep into the warm sand. He felt as each grain nuzzled softly against his feet, warm and all encompassing. He breathed in the salt-whipped air and felt the sunshine heat his skin. Beside him, Crowley stirred. He had fallen asleep about an hour and a half ago and Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to wake him. 

Aziraphale smiled softly as he gazed at Crowley’s form. He was stretched out comfortably on a beach towel, arms under the back of his head, sunglasses folded and laying to the side. His hair shone brilliantly in the sunlight and Aziraphale loved him deeply. 

Unable to help himself, Aziraphale leaned forward and placed a kiss in the center of Crowley’s bare chest. Crowley stirred a little more now and Aziraphale could see a grin spreading across his face. 

“Hello, angel.” 

Aziraphale sat back up and pretended to go back to reading the book he had set aside. 

“Good morning, darling.” 

“‘s hardly morning, now, isn’t it?” Crowley squinted at the sun and sat up to dust some stray sand off his legs. “How long did you let me sleep?” 

Aziraphale smiled to himself. 

“Oh only about 90 minutes.” 

Crowley stopped dusting himself for a second and looked at Aziraphale. 

“Christ, Aziraphale, you let me sleep the whole day away!” Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This is meant to be our anniversary, I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. We might have to run to catch our lunch reservations and-” 

“It’s alright, dear, I wanted you to sleep. You just looked so comfortable and cute.” 

Crowley scoffed at him. 

“I have never once looked ‘cute.’” 

Aziraphale smiled at him again and leaned forward to kiss his nose. Crowley melted a little and Aziraphale began peppering kisses all over his face, putting his book down once more and gently grabbing Crowley’s cheeks to move his face around as he set out to kiss every inch. 

Crowley’s cheeks were pink but Aziraphale wasn’t able to tell if that was due to the sun or his recent bombardment. 

“I disagree. For example, right now you look adorable.” Aziraphale finally pulled away, kissing Crowley’s pout. “And you looked adorable when you slept. What were you dreaming about?” 

Crowley sat up and pulled his knees to his chest and mumbled something. 

“What was that, dear?” 

Crowley sighed dramatically. 

“If I tell you what I dreamt about, promise you won’t call me ‘cute,’ again,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale a side-eye. 

Aziraphale made an ‘X’ across his chest with his pointer finger. 

“Cross my heart.” 

Crowley practically beamed at the dorky gesture. 

“Okay,” Crowley started. “We were on the porch at the cottage, laying in the hammock. The sun was shining but there was a cool breeze and we were just… holding each other. Relaxing as the sun glowed around us and we whispered little ‘I love you’s’ back and forth and everything just felt… right.” 

Crowley finished and looked over at Aziraphale, who was smiling oh-so softly at him. 

“Dear, that’s-” 

“Don’t say it!” 

“That sounds  _ lovely _ .” 

“You’re toeing the line and you know it.” 

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed Crowley, again, before standing up and gathering their things. He slung their beach bag over his shoulder and put a hand out to help Crowley up. 

“We can forget the reservations,” Aziraphale said, intertwining his and Crowley’s fingers. “Let’s go see if we can’t make your dream a reality.” 

Crowley grinned like a loon at Aziraphale and leaned forward to give a quick kiss to his temple. 

“You’re my dream, angel.” 


	31. "enemy"

_ End of Summer, 2039 _

A group of about 10 children ran past Crowley. One bumped into him and landed on their bum on the ground in front of him. He glanced down at the child for a moment before picking them up and setting them to rights, dusting off the dirt they got all over their dress. 

“Now, Dahlia, what did your dad say about running?” Crowley asked, giving the girl a stern look. 

“Actually, I wasn’t running - I was walking really, really fast and you just so happened to get in my way, Mr. Crowley!” Dahlia replied, giggling as Crowley picked her up to tickle her mercilessly for the sass. 

“Excellent deflection, and I give you an extra 15 points for coming up with it so quickly. I barely saw any hesitation.” Crowley put the girl down and patted her head. “Now, go and play with your cousins.”

Crowley watched as she rejoined the group. He couldn’t help the soft smile that he was surely sporting. Kids. They grow up so fast. 

“You’re so soft, dear,” Aziraphale said, sidling up to Crowley. “It’s almost as cute as the kids.” 

Crowley scoffed but didn’t disagree. He turned around and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, giving him a soft kiss. When he pulled away, it wasn’t far. They remained standing with one arm each wrapped around the other in a half-hug, watching the kids play. 

“Do you remember when it was their parents that were going on adventures and pretending to defeat dragons?” Aziraphale asked, softly. 

Crowley grinned at the memory. He had always had a soft spot for kids, and the Them had wormed their way right into Crowley and Aziraphale’s life. They watched them grow up, get married, have kids, and now they were presumably going to do the same for their kids. 

Before Crowley could properly answer Aziraphale, Adam came up beside Aziraphale and smiled. 

“They love you two, you know that?” Adam said, gesturing to the group. 

Crowley couldn’t help but melt a little at that and he could tell Aziraphale was doing the same. Adam had grown up to be a fine young man. They started having little parties to celebrate the anniversary of the Not-End-of-the-World and this year was their 20th. 

“And we love them. Don’t we, dear?” 

“They’re alright, I guess.” 

Aziraphale playfully swatted at Crowley’s arm. Adam laughed and they made conversation for a few more minutes before he left to check on the food. 

Crowley coaxed Aziraphale away from the party to sit in Adam’s garden on a little bench. They watched as butterflies danced from flower to flower and the sun began its descent onto the horizon. Aziraphale let out a sigh and put his head on Crowley’s shoulder. 

Crowley turned and kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. After a beat of silence, he began chuckling. 

“And what’s so funny?” Aziraphale asked, a smile in his voice. 

“Nothing, I’m just... I’m just so happy.” Crowley’s voice cracked a little and Aziraphale sat up to look him in the eyes. 

“Oh darling, me too,” Aziraphale said as he reached up to wipe a stray tear from Crowley’s cheek. “I love you so much and these past two decades have been the best of my entire life.” 

Crowley leaned forward to capture his lips in another kiss, bringing a hand up to thread through Aziraphale’s blond curls. 

“I love you, angel.” 

“I love you, too, you sappy old fool,” Aziraphale whispered into Crowley’s lips. “Was that what you were laughing about? Being happy?” 

“Oh, no, I was laughing because you are, by far, the best worst enemy a demon could have ever possibly asked for,” Crowley replied, pulling away and smiling. “Here you’ve gone and- and  _ domesticated _ me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Aziraphale smiled at him and snapped his fingers, producing two full champagne glasses. He handed one to Crowley. 

“A toast.” 

“To what?”

“To enemies, dear.” 

Crowley smiled back at him. 

“To enemies.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT'S A WRAP, FOLKS! thank you to everyone who read!! i cannot believe i actually managed to write just about every single day (minus some hiccups here and there). i'm currently posting a The Proposal (2009) AU and soon i'll be doing a Hallmark Christmas AU if you're into more GOmens fics and as always kudos and comments are super welcome!


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